


Ill Met By Moonlight

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Awkward Sexual Situations, Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, Masturbation, Semi-public masturbation, Shame in Sexual Desires, Urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6814060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orodreth and Túrin go for a drunken walk in the moonlight on the newly-completed bridge over the River Narog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ill Met By Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [merryismaytime2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/merryismaytime2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:** Together, and completely drunk, Orodreth and Turin masturbate from the fucking bridge

"No, no, my lord," Túrin said, expansively gesturing with his half-filled glass of wine. Some of it sloshed over the edge and spilt over his breeches but he didn't seem to notice. "I was just saying that you should ACT more like a king!" He gestured again, managing to keep the wine in his glass this time. "Do what you want! Arrange the defences the exact way you like, rather than keeping to the traditional way that 'Finrod always did it' - I'm growing tired of hearing you say that! We have a bridge now. We're not doing things the way we've always done them; times have moved on and so should you!" 

He paused, taking a long slurp of the wine in his glass, and Orodreth, blinking, took a moment to swallow down some of his own wine. There was a pleasantly hazy blur to his senses. He had been keeping pace with Túrin right along, and Túrin, so it was said, could drink anyone under the table. The Elvenking was determined not to let that happen - no young mortal, comely or not, was going to out-drink him. 

Wait, what? Orodreth sucked in a breath, and thought about the word 'comely'. Comely. Comely comely comely. Someone worth coming over. Or on. Or in. He smiled to himself, and airily swallowed the rest of the glass. "I'll have another," he said roughly to the servitor who appeared at his side. 

Túrin finished his glass too, and the servitor filled up both their glasses again. "Come, my boy," Orodreth said, holding out his free arm to Túrin. "Let us venture to this bridge of ours and enjoy the view." 

They stumbled together toward the front gates, taking swigs from their glasses every few steps, now and again breaking out into fits of laughter sparked by such amazing and novel things as tapestries that moved slightly in the breeze, making you think the persons depicted were breathing, torches that were smoking a little bit too much for comfort, and, once, Orodreth's own hair, coming free of its overly-elaborate bindings. Laughing, Túrin yanked some of the pins out while Orodreth fumbled with the jewelled clips, and at last Orodreth's hair was free. Idly, Túrin finger-combed through the golden strands, and Orodreth caught a faraway look in his eyes even as he grinned and giggled over the tangles. 

At last they arrived at the gates, handing hair clips and now-empty glasses alike to one of the servants who trailed behind them. The guards drew to attention. "Open the gate," Orodreth ordered. "'Tis too fair a night to remain cooped up underground." He snaked an arm around Túrin's waist, drawing him close, to Túrin's blushes and laughter. "I would like to take my very good friend here, my very excellent mortal friend, to see the famous bridge of Nargothrond by moonlight." He nodded firmly to emphasise the order, and the guards nodded gravely back, raising the portcullis. 

The bridge, formed of carven stone, lay low and flat. It was a conscious and deliberate imitation of the bridge before the gates of Menegroth, wide enough that two carts could pass side by side and yet leave enough room for people to lean against the low stone parapets on either side, just up to hip height on the average Elf. 

By subconscious agreement, they walked, arms around each other, to the furthest end of the bridge, away from the prying eyes of the guards at the gate. Here, at this hour of the night, nothing could be heard save the sweet singing of the nightbirds in the trees to each side of the riverbank. Orodreth glanced up into the trees, momentarily letting go of Túrin. Kings rarely received privacy, yet Orodreth here realised that no one had followed them, no one was watching them. 

Concurrent with that revelation came the sudden awareness of a bodily need: he'd been drinking all evening, after all. 

"I have to piss," Orodreth groaned weakly. The sound of rushing water in the ravine below wasn't helping anything. He turned to look at Túrin, but Túrin apparently had no shame, and already had his cock out, pissing away into the water far below. 

That decided Orodreth, and hastily, as though he truly could wait no longer, shoved aside his robes and drew his own cock out, aiming shakily over the edge of the bridge. He was actually about the height of the average Elf, and had to stand on tiptoes to ensure his stream made it over the parapet, something that wasn't a problem for Túrin at all. 

Despite feeling decidedly off balance, Orodreth was still drunk, giddy with it, and without further ado, let his eyes drop to Túrin's cock. It was a fine one, long even in its flaccid state, and Túrin didn't just hold it, he almost seemed to caress it. He had finished pissing a moment ago and seemed reluctant to tuck it back in his breeches, letting his hand drift slowly up and down it in a familiar motion. 

Swaying, Orodreth nearly lost his balance, letting his stream hit the parapet and splash up. He corrected himself, but Túrin had already cast a quick glance over, caught him staring. An apology leaped to his lips, but Túrin only smiled, slow like honey, and resumed the movement of his hand, this time showing off, deliberate and brash. 

Not to be outdone, Orodreth shook his cock, then took it into his palm, sliding his hand slowly over it. Time felt like it had gone suddenly slow, and the night breezes, so cool a moment ago, couldn't quell the heat rising within him. Túrin's eyes were on him now, following the way his hand was moving over himself, and he felt smitten with dizziness. 

They said nothing to each other now, for do so might break the spell. Orodreth was hard almost as fast as Túrin despite starting a moment or two after him, and a flush rose to his cheeks as he realised how desperate it would all look to some outsider - the King of Nargothrond, gone so giddy over this mortal child that even the sight of his cock sent his own member rising, needy for what small relief his own hand could bring him. Somehow the shame of it drove the warmth inside him higher, and he found he was making small noises under his breath, tiny gasps and moans, almost drowned out by the sound of the water below. 

Túrin's eyes stayed on him, and he stroked his cock steadily, as someone with the ease of long practice. With how many others, how many times, had this boy stroked himself, Orodreth wondered, this tiny mortal life, who had probably spent only about fifteen years or so masturbating at all, and who seemed far more expert in the pursuit of pleasure than Orodreth, who was literally older than the Moon shining down on them? 

There was a challenge in Túrin's eyes, and Orodreth became aware somehow that what they were doing was not just friendly drunkenness but something of the nature of a competition - who would come first? His hand on himself wavered, and he tried to slow down, but the pleasure was already building up inside him, so fast, so good. He did not want to hold back, not even to win an unspoken challenge. 

The wind rose a little, sweeping over the bridge, and the Moon peered out from behind a cloud, as if to play voyeur. Túrin's face in the moonlight was breathtaking even if Orodreth had not already been aroused, and when a lock of his hair swung into his face, and he bent his head slightly, biting his lip, Orodreth could no longer hold back. 

He came with a low moan, releasing his seed onto the stone of the bridge helplessly, dropping his head down. Túrin followed just behind him, winning by a hairsbreadth, spurting jet after jet of his release in almost the same place. Orodreth experienced a wild urge to drop to his knees and lick it up shamelessly, and restrained himself with some difficulty. He let his robes fall back to cover himself up again, noticing that Túrin was tucking himself back into his breeches. 

"Come, my lord," Túrin said. He glanced up to the fast-moving clouds above, now covering the surface of the Moon again. "It looks like rain." He held out a hand, and Orodreth took it, both their hands a little sticky. 

The first droplets of rain began to fall before they reached the gates, and Túrin let go of Orodreth, who became suddenly conscious of how tired and drunk he was. Bed seemed like a good idea, and perhaps Túrin would come with him. 

"Will you join me in my chambers?" Orodreth heard himself asking, somewhat plaintively, as soon as they were well inside the gate. 

Túrin gave him a somewhat puzzled look. "No, my lord," he said, raising a hand to his head, scrubbing at his face wearily. 

Orodreth felt himself go pale with shame. "Never mind, forget I asked," he said, and hurried away from Túrin as quickly as he could, leaving the Man staring after him in confusion.


End file.
